We Bring The Fire
by storyless
Summary: Vision charred with smoke, Auron looked upon the land below. Did he know this place? Had he set foot upon this land, had he thrown his sword against the fiends in their defense? Had he protected them once?


_Before its destruction, the Isle of Kiore played host to a peculiar marriage ritual, native to its shores alone. Each member of the uniting couple would each bring a lit torch to the ceremony. The abiding priest would let down a cloth, woven from a native bunchgrass fiber. The couple would remain separated by the cloth until the conclusion of the ceremony, after which each would touch their torches to the cloth, which lit and burn within moments. By this symbolic action, the couple had destroyed the last remaining veil separating them. This heathen ritual was said to predate Yevon, and it survived countless attempts by the Temples of Yevon to quell it._

-Excerpt from Being of a Compleat History of the Southern Archipelagos by the Honorable Maechen, Emeritus Professor of History at the University of St. Bevelle

-

You lied to me!" Auron yanked his arm away, scowling.

"It was for your own good," Braska said wearily, grabbing the boy's forearm once again. "You'll see that eventually. The Orphanage of St. Bevelle is a fine-"

"You told me we were going to the monastery, to the warrior monks! Priests aren't supposed to lie. I'm going to run away and tell everybody you lied."

"If I hadn't said what I did…you would be," Braska paused, considering if the boy who'd just lost his home and family to Sin a week prior could bear the lurid images of death and dismemberment that floated to his mind just then. He then reviewed the intervening week, during which he had been the target of an endless free-flowing, petulant barrage of complaints, questions and - Yevon help him - corrections. This child could absolutely handle it, Braska decided emphatically. "If I hadn't lied to you, the wolves would be slurping up the remainders of your ribcage by now."

"I can take care of myself." With an abrupt wrench of his torso, the boy twisted free of Braska's grip and lunged toward the street. Braska scarcely contained his laughter as his charge collided with a rather burly nun, who Braska recognized as one of the Orphanage's house mothers. The boy pitched backwards, limbs splaying awkwardly in an effort to right himself. The nun merely pursed her lips and readjusted the apron of her habit.

"Mother Superior," Braska called out in a voice meant to convey concern but instead came out rather delighted, in spite of himself. "Meet young Auron. I trust you are not injured?"

"Never better. Thank you, Braska." The nun placed a firm hand on Auron's shoulder. "Auron, it is? Another of the Kiore Isle children?"

Braska nodded. "The last of them, I believe. This one ran off to the jungle. He was not particularly compliant."

"The jungle? Fending for himself and all that?" She scrutinized the boy. It was Auron's turn to nod, a fierce, proud motion that shook his short ponytail. "Well, that's a blessing. I'd trust a boy like you'd be sturdy enough for the private orphanages."

"Private orphanages?" Braska said, catching the look of panic in his charge's eyes. Little more than work camps, it seems the infamy of the private orphanages had not escaped even the most distant of the southern islands.

"Aye. Our beds filled up weeks ago, and I can't imagine he'd fit all that well into a cradle." Her smile waned as she caught Braska's eyes. "I am sorry, truly, but with the funding cuts on top of the tithing reductions, we've been turning away dozens of young ones. Why, we have to share our healer with the the dungeons! You know how it is these days."

Braska bowed slightly. "I understand. Thank you for your time, Mother."

"I'm only sorry I could not do more." She gave Auron a reassuring pat on his back. "Might not be much consolation, but I'm acquainted with the headmaster of the Orphanage on the east side of town and from what I've heard, it's not so bad. Light work: potion brewing and textiles. See if Master Braska won't show you over that way."

As the nun left them standing outside the orphanage, Braska slipped his hand around Auron's forearm again - a bit rougher than necessary perhaps. "How old are you again?" Braska asked.

"Thirteen years and two months."

Braska narrowed his eyes and seemed to study Auron.

"You're sixteen now." Without further explanation, Braska pulled the boy in the direction of the road again. Auron picked up pace when he realized the direction they were headed. "You say priests shouldn't lie, Auron?" Braska peered down, the softness of a half-smile playing on his face.

"Um...no, but..."

"Except perhaps when it's in your favor, hmm?"

The boy seemed to genuinely wrestle with the question. Braska chuckled. This child would make a good monk, he decided. As the two of them walked toward the monastery, Braska took a fleeting amusement in ruffling his charge's hair. This time, the boy didn't snarl and threaten to jump overboard and swim back to the island. This time, the boy did all he could to hide a excited grin.

-

"Agh!" Kinoc scuttled backwards, his foot sliding oddly in his boot, which had become entangled within the coiling grip of a muscular tentacle. Kinoc, never having mastered melee techniques, could only fumble with his daggers, slashing at the vine-like appendages frantically. But it held him fast, and he could already feel his ankle growing numb. Above him, a vast double row of pyramidal teeth glistened with strings of saliva.

"Fira!" A voice cried to his right. Kinoc felt the whiskers of his beard singe as the spell bloomed in blinding oranges and golds above him.

The Malboro tensed its grip around his foot painfully, and began to jerk wildly. Kinoc slid helplessly, gravel grinding into his light field armor, feeling hot blood leak into his boot. With a sudden seizing, the thing let out a great belch, spittle splattering out in a radial burst. A dollop hit square upon Kinoc's helm, clouding his vision and hissing like steam escaping from a pipe as it dripped onto his face.

Kinoc careened forward, apparently oblivious to his wound, solidly plunging both daggers into the tentacle, severing it in a single swipe and rushing to meet the beast head-on, wielding his daggers at chest level. He launched his knives at the creature, all ferocity, no strategy. A viscous, yellow ooze issued forth with each wound.

Auron galloped to his side, slashing his blade deep into the plant-fiend's hide. A hoarse screech knocked free from its rotten mouth, fading as the carcass dissolved into pyreflies, leaving Kinoc stabbing madly at the empty air.

"Are you alright?" Braska called to Kinoc from a short distance away, the cool fizzling of a healing spell ready at his fingertips. "I'm sorry I cast that last one at such a close range, but I'm afraid-"

Kinoc swung around, dashing at the priest, daggers still raised. In a moment he was close enough for Braska to recognize the unfocused, berserk haze in his eyes.

"Confusion!" Braska barked. Auron reacted swiftly, tackling Kinoc from the side, pinning his comrade's arms under each knee. Kinoc reacted with a groan, head lulling loosely as an impressively vertical stream of vomit spewed from the grate of his helm. "And poison, I see." Braska slipped a flask from his robe's inner pocketing, already tugging on the cork with his teeth as he approached.

Auron's face caught midway between alarm and disgust. "But sir, that potion-"

"Is far more efficient than two separate healing spells, which he would otherwise require."

"It's Al Bhed made. It's contraband, dangerous! Sir, it is said to lure fiends."

Braska made a bitter chortling sound. "Thirty years ago, they would have said the same of Guado potions. Yet now that we have a Guado maester, you'll hardly find a medicine chest without one. Convenient, isn't it?"

"But sir...," Kinoc suddenly twisted under Auron, freeing his arm and wildly swiping his blade at his friend's face. Auron reacted a little too late, the blade skimming the underside of his chin. Auron gritted his teeth - without a free hand to press to the wound, blood dribbled freely down his chest.

Braska smirked. "There is a saying among them, my fiancee's people: Good intentions heal nothing but wounded pride."

"Your...fiancee's people? She is an Al Bhed?" Auron stammered.

"You should thank her for teaching me so well. This stuff can be tricky for us poor Yevonites." The corners of Braska's mouth turned up, eyes mirthless. "Come to think of it, they have a fantastic recipe for stain removal. Takes out vomit and blood surer than anything you'll find in Bevelle. I suspect you might want a dab in your next washing, Auron."

Auron sighed roughly. Even so, he pried open Kinoc's jaw as Braska poured the contents of the flask down Kinoc's throat. Momentarily, Kinoc's body relaxed, blinked dazedly, squirming under Auron's weight. Auron leaned back onto his heels."Welcome back."

Braska helped Kinoc to a sitting position before turning back to Auron. "Now, shall we see how a cursed Al Bhed loving priest can heal up a flesh wound, or would you prefer your good intentions?"


End file.
